A/N: Thank you RavenHairedSpectrobeMaster, Guest, Wounded Wing, and DiscountPineapple for reviewing last chapter. You made my day.

Chapter 3

We teleport to a place I've never seen before, in the game or otherwise.

The castle gives off the same vibe as Ganon's in Ocarina of Time, but it isn't the same. Though it has the same smooth stone walls, the same red carpeting spanning the center of corridors and stairways, and the same eerie torches casting dancing shadows along the halls. Even the same stained-glass windows that can't be seen out of, though the thunder rumbling outside gives picture to the dark clouds hanging overhead.

My stare lingers on shining metal accents decorating the top and base of the walls, some shaped like a giant beast's teeth, some gleaming in the patterns of wind swirls. We pass many doors, some stone, some wooden, some a frightening metal with veins etched into them. There is a spirit of adventure in me, burning like a little candle in the face of these fearful, blazing torches, and it wants to explore the castle—explore it like a dungeon. Solve the puzzles, defeat the enemies, find the boss key…

But of course I am not allowed, and am not foolish enough to attempt it, not with my wrist captured in the crushing grip of said boss, who has already proven that he could kill me without trying. I am tugged along and taken exactly where he wants me to go.

Ghirahim takes me up, up, up. The spiral ascending stairs are never ending, and I struggle to keep my breathing quiet and even. Wounds smarting, legs burning, side in stitches, I do my best to keep pace, but weariness drags me down. I quickly recover mid-stumble, fight to not let it happen again. Did he notice? I won't let him see weakness if I can help it. It will only fuel his cruelty.

We don't stop until we reach the top—and I mean the absolute top. The stairs end and my everything aches, so much that my bones feel brittle and blood feels painful pumping through my veins.

A large wooden door, reinforced with iron, waits before us. The fear of what lies beyond it—the rack, or maybe the iron maiden—sends shivers through me. But I try to hide it, try to keep the trembling hidden under my skin.

My trepidation is so fierce I do not notice the Lizalfos standing directly to the right of the door.

"Shii," Ghirahim addresses the Lizalfos, "we have a guest."

The green scaled beast, with its slicked back yellow Mohawk-like crest that reminds me of the feathery spines of an iguana, is quick to open the entrance to what I'm assuming is my worst nightmare. Did I ever call the Academy doom and gloom? Hah. I'm such an idiot.

"Oh, don't be shy, little bird. Shii just loves having company." Ghirahim shoves me, effectively uprooting my quivering feet from the floor. "Go on in—this will be your new cage. For a time," he finishes in an ominous tone.

I have no choice but to enter. My heart is screaming and I'm using every ounce of what's left of my strength just to keep a straight face. Don't show fear, don't show fear, repeats in my head. But I think some shivers reach the surface of my skin, not staying down in my bones. I'm such an idiot, such a—

There's nothing in this room.

I blink like a confused cow. Where are the torture devices? The bloodstained spikes, the rusted tetanus-inducing chains? There's just a large circular stone room, with a glassless gothic-type window that's taller than Ghirahim, and wide enough to fit two average sized humans. The window shows the dark clouds, eerily still in the dim sky. But it is no gateway of escape. In fact, it shows just how improbable escape really is. It looks like we're in the tallest tower, and the ground is a far scream below, so far that I'm sure I'd reach terminal velocity if I jumped.

"So sorry to crush any remaining hope you might have"—Ghirahim comes up behind me, squeezes my shoulder to the point of pain—"but don't count on that bird of yours to come save you. Even if it avoids the arrows, it won't be so lucky with the lightning." He then croons in my ear, "There's no escaping."

"I wasn't planning on it," I grit out, amazed my voice keeps steady—no, it shook near the end. Dammit.

"Smart girl. Now, about that 'Wing Ceremony' and the spirit maiden…"

"Four days from now. Southwest of the floating island. She will land in Faron Woods." The words tumble out flat and lifeless, with the barest quivering in my tone. Traitor, I call myself, yet at the same time I am reminded that Zelda falls no matter what. She has to fall if Demise is to ever be defeated. Unfortunately, the internal battle causes my already wrecked nerves to shatter, and I whirl to face the demon, eyes wild, and snarl out, "You got the information you want—hurry up and kill me!"

He laughs, soft and low. "Now, now, darling. Patience. Do you really think I'd let you off so easy?"

I push down a growl. "Of course you wouldn't…you sick bastard."

He grabs me by the chin, wretches my head up to look at him, and I hiss as I feel the small congealing cut at my neck tear back open. "Such terrible manners," he scolds in mock-aghast. "We'll have to work on that."

The resounding slap snaps my head to the side, face stinging like it's been hit with a rock instead of a palm. I bite my lip, swallow my cry. I've already slipped up too much—don't let him see, don't let him hear. Stay stoic, stay resolute— No, no, no, no tears building up, please—no! I slam my eyelids shut, keep my face turned away, bury the weakness.

Then I start laughing. It begins low, grows in volume, until I'm giggling like an idiot. I cease the sound as soon as Ghirahim's fingers find my chin again. I stare defiantly into his dark eyes at first, but then, slowly, the light fades and my gaze becomes lifeless. Clear as glass. Stay stoic, I repeat. Stay resolute. Face your end with dignity.

Ghirahim is not smiling anymore. Again, he looks at me like I'm a jumbled equation. "Such strange behavior…especially from such a soft looking girl."

I cannot fight off the manic grin that slits my mouth, bares my teeth.

But that grin falls like a boat-load of bricks when the demon tilts my chin up further and leans down. My jaw drops at the feel of slick warmth, as he drags a freakishly long tongue over the wound on my neck, both stinging and, strangely, soothing the cut. He withdraws, watching with anticipation, licking his smirking lips.

I don't think my after-shock reaction is one he expects.

Laughter bursts forth from my lungs like punches. "Hahah— Oh my gosh! Oh my gos—that's just like you, isn't it?! You would do that! You would!" Tears gather in the corners of my eyes as I stumble backwards, gasping for air. "How did—how did I not see that coming? I shouldn't be surprised, I shouldn't be."

My laughter cuts off with the hysteria. That's right, I remind myself. I know—I know who I'm with. I know what he's capable of.

Ghirahim watches me keenly, a dark spark manifesting in his eye. "You speak as if you know me. Hmm, perhaps your…prophetic words may have some merit after all." He turns and strides back to the door. He whirls to face me one more time. "We'll see, sky child. I have nothing to lose if not. You on the other hand…"

"Really?" I snap. "Do I have much to lose? My life? Go ahead, take it!" Hysteria seizes control once again. "Fight me, cut me, kill me! I don't care! Send me home! I can think of no better hand to die by than yours!"

There's that wicked smile again. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, my little bird."

"It's not flattery, you—!" I pull back the insult, then bite out, "It's fact."

I wasn't trying to compliment him; I wasn't trying to widen his smile. I was just saying it'd be better to die by him than a Bokoblin or something stupid like that. Death by powerful demon lord? Or death by mentally challenged ogre-thing? Yeah, the former definitely has more dignity to it.

He leaves in a swirl of his cloak and the solid slamming of the door. I am left with the Lizalfos in the bare-stone, empty room.

My brown eyes meet its yellow glare.

"So…" I say to the lizard-man-thing, shuffling on my feet. "…this is awkward."

Honestly, I expect to be beaten. I expect Ghirahim to get bored and bring about my suffering to amuse himself. But days pass and I don't see a lick of him.

It's just me. And the lizard.

Whose name is Shii…I think. And it's not so bad. It mostly just glares at me from the other side of the room, arms crossed over scaly chest, daggers hanging from holsters at its hips. I lost my kitchen knife long ago, in the mysterious blast that sent Turk skyward, and more than once do I think of trying to wrest one of those blades off the Lizalfos, but it sees me eyeing them.

"Just try it," it snarls, and I'm so shocked that it talked I can't form a reply, or even move.

Definitely a lot smarter than a Bokoblin. Good on Ghirahim, I find myself thinking. He didn't leave a complete idiot to guard his prisoner. Although it…it would have been really good for me if he did. It's just that villain stupidity in games and movies always irked me.

Though this—it isn't a game anymore, is it? It feels strange to even think that. But more and more things are clearing, coming into focus. Especially as I lay curled up, shivering on the cold, hard floor. The wind blows through the glassless window, and there are no corners in the circular chamber to hide in. It doesn't help that, multiple times, other Lizalfos come into the room periodically to dump buckets of freezing cold water on me. At first, it felt nice to get the fruit intestines sluiced off me, but now it's just painful. I don't try to run or fight—more guards will just come in. I take the water with the stoic hatred of a cat being forced through the indignity of it all.

"You smell, human," they always say.

When they aren't looking, I suck as much water from my hair as I can. They have given me nothing else to survive on.

Although I suppose I should be thankful…as thankful as a prisoner can get for being taken to the toilet regularly. At least I'm not being forced to go in a bucket. It also helps that the castle's plumbing seems to be as advanced as Skyloft's. It's the little things that keep me sane.

I do my best to keep track of the time, but it's hard in this place. Dawn and dusk are subtle, sometimes undifferentiating. The days are dark in a dim lightbulb kind of way, while the nights come on quick and are black, black, black. Black and windy, lit up only by flashes of lightning. No stars, no moon shows through those clouds. Sometimes the lightning is far off, the thunder quiet and rumbling, other times it seems like it's right next to the tower—the exploding booms make me scream.

The Lizalfos laughs at my fright, and I give it a resounding, "Piss off!"

It only laughs harder.

Two days—or maybe three? I don't know—later, Ghirahim decides to make another appearance.

"It's almost time, little bird. You had better hope your…visions, or whatever they are, are correct."

"They're correct," I say dully, "and if not—whatever."

He stares at me too long, gaze wriggling into me, beneath my skin, and it freaks me out. I glare to hide the fear.

"Shii," Ghirahim speaks to the Lizalfos without looking away from me. "Give her a dagger."

"What?" I gasp, eyes widening with Shii's. But, unlike me, Shii does not question. The Lizalfos only obeys, if grudgingly. There is a wrinkling of its snout, a distasteful twist to its lips as it unclasps a holster. It chucks the blade in a lazy underhand toss, and I stagger back as the dagger clatters at my feet.

"Pick it up," Ghirahim orders me, and I'm quick to obey, but not because he said so. He then spreads his arms, his cloak disintegrating into diamond fractals.

I don't like that smile on his face. I never have. "What's your deal?"

"We're playing a game. Try to keep up, would you?" One of those daggers, rhombus blade with a faint red glow, appears in his left hand. His right raises in the familiar 'catch' pose.

He advances towards me in all his white, pasty glory.

Fear jitters, but with it, or rather over it, runs the hysteria. My toothy grin comes out. Yes, yes, this is it—this is the game, this is familiar.

But unlike the game, I feel every wound, the old ones, the new ones, and I'll feel the ones to come. Not fun, the fear whimpers under the mania, but I let the latter take control because it's easier. And because I have no choice but to fight. Lying down and taking it is not an option. I start circling, but he keeps walking, straight towards me. That boldness, that unperturbed confidence is something I can't help but admire, even if he is a crazy freak.

I know what to do, I know… My mind keeps chanting it, but it doesn't lessen my exhaustion, my hunger, my dehydration. My tired eyes cannot look from his dark ones, the shadow around them like a raven's wing, making them seem deeper, darker… I am standing before a carnivore, I realize. A bloodthirsty, ravenous carnivore.

Come on then, I think, a frenzied light coming to life in my eyes. Make me fall, make me bleed, devour me. Bring this—this dream-like existence—to an end. Kill the pain, kill me. Be my painkiller. Because a killer you are.

But he is so restrained. Walking so calmly.

I won't be so calm.

I make a mad dash at him, make to aim high, but I go low instead. I graze him, and I feel his bruising kick in my thigh before I can fully evade, caught mid-roll.

Not fast enough.

On my feet, I swing the dagger. He catches it, but this time I push the blade upward, to where his fingers open. The blade is freed, but having to put my whole body behind the push, my arms too weak, I stumble, and he takes advantage of that. He sidesteps, and I tumble forward. His left hand with the glowing dagger rises to meet my fall.

I twist, but he slices my cheek.

I move, I move. Faster, slower. I fake attacks, feign retreat, lunge into real ones at random. The only thing I can do is confuse him.

One hit. I just want one hit.

I'm trying to think of a strategy when he dashes at me. I leap back too late and the tip of his dagger sears across the bridge of my nose. My pained cry is caught in my throat and there it morphs, comes out as a laugh. I grip my face with my free hand, the other clutching the dagger. Laughing, laughing. I rip my hand away. I'm smiling, all teeth. "Rah!" I run at him, anger funneling through my heart, blasting in tandem with the fear, the hysteria, the giddiness.

I'm alive.

Alive.

Alive, I fight for my life.

"This isn't a dream," I say after rolling away from another swipe of his blade. "Finally! For—the—first—time…" I growl the last: "It's not a dream."

Maybe it's a nightmare.

But at least I feel it.

I wouldn't be surprised if, here in the after-fight, when I'm too exhausted to even lift the dagger, Ghirahim keeps beating me. To within an inch of my life. I wouldn't be surprised.

Which is why I'm so shocked when, instead, he drops a bottle of red liquid in my lap.

I gape at the red potion, treat it as if he just plopped a ruby in front of me, for me. "I…I don't…understand? What—"

"It's a red potion, little fool. Drink it."

"But—"

"Shall I pour it down your throat? Drown you with it?"

I drink it. But the entire time I keep wary eyes on the demon lord, wondering what the trick is—what's the catch?

"I can't have you dying before the fated day, now, can I? Then I wouldn't get the pleasure of ripping you apart should it come to pass you've lied to me."

Oh, of course. That's why. Sick freak.

I gasp in air as I take a break from gulping. "You do know I could've died days ago, right? You didn't exactly give me any food or water. Humans can't go more than two or three days without water. Your lackeys just happened to throw buckets at me 'cause I stink."

He blinks. "Oh, right. I forgot. Actually—and this is quite embarrassing—but I forgot you were up here to begin with."

"You…forgot about me. Completely?"

He smiles.

"…Jackass."

And then he's grabbing my hair and yanking me up, summoning a dagger and holding the tip to my lips.

"Such a foul mouth, it's so completely uncivil! But I can fix that, I can fix you." Ghirahim presses the blade into my lower lip, drawing blood from flesh already bitten so thin. "Unless…you would like to correct your mistake?"

My teeth are clenched tight to protect my tongue. Even so, I manage to hiss, "…Sorry."

"What was that? I didn't quite catch it." He leans close to my face, and for a moment I think about trying to bite him. The dagger makes me think twice.

"Sorry. I'm…sorry."

"Sorry, what?" he whispers. "Who am I, servant?"

"I'm sorry…Master." I'm getting frantic. "Master, I'm sorry."

As soon as the blade leaves my lips I'm back to nursing the bottle of red potion, glaring at the demon lord as I back up to the wall like a scorned animal.

"Oh, don't be like that, little bird. Just think: tomorrow's the big day. Aren't you excited? I know I am."

"…Of course…'Master.'"

He doesn't seem to catch the slight sarcasm I attach to his title. No, his smile doesn't leave his face, and he all but prances out the door. Freaking fruitcake. Freaking, deadly, evil fruitcake.

The healing medicine does its job. My wounds close, leaving just rusted lines of scabs. I pass the time sitting on the floor, brushing my fingers over the rough surfaces decorating my face, especially the ones on my cheek and nose. Briefly, I wonder what I must look like. Heh, does it matter?

The next day—I think it's the next day—my heart starts hammering harder than usual. I'm waiting, waiting. Has Zelda fallen? Or were things slightly changed? Maybe my presence altered the course. But it could only have done so marginally. I'm just a girl, or rather a woman caught in a girl's body. Whatever. The point is a little human like me can't change destiny.

It will happen no matter what I do.

And it does.

Though I knew it would, I certainly didn't foresee Ghirahim bursting through the door, looking joyous. He just about leaps towards me, picks me up by the shoulders, and spins.

"You were right, little bird, you were right! It's happened! The spirit maiden is within our grasp! You brilliant girl!"

"Ah—ghk! I—ack!" I can't really reply—I'm too busy trying to keep my brain from scrambling as he spins me.

"And the temple—Skyview Temple, you said?—she's there." Suddenly he drops me, suddenly his face goes dark. "But that"—his fingers twitch, his hands still hovering in air where he held me. They curl into fists—"that lowly servant of the goddess. She's erected a barrier outside the temple."

I blink, heart slowing as confusion takes place of fear. "Wait—yeah, there should be a barrier inside the temple, at the last door, but outside?"

"That's what I said, stupid girl!" His shout nearly rips my eardrums.

"Okay, okay! Geez, dude, calm down, she's still in there and you make it in there too."

He grabs me up by my shoulders, shakes me. "And just how do I do that?"

"G-give me a moment! Shaking doesn't help me remember!" I'm racking my brain but Ghirahim's fingers dig into my skin. "M-Master, don't—be—a dick!"

I stumble as I push away from him, fall flat on my butt.

Ghirahim blinks slowly. "Did you just…refer to me as a phallic symbol?"

Heat explodes in my cheeks, burns up to my ears. "What? N-no! I—that's— Ugh!" I throw my hands up. "That's what we call rude and inconsiderate people where I come from, okay?!"

He's advancing towards me again, rage printed clearly on his face.

I crawl backwards, words blurt from my mouth. "The boy! There's a boy in green with a heavenly sword who can move through the barriers."

Me and my stupid self-preservation instinct—always jumping out when I want nothing to do with it. And it does its job. Ghirahim stops, regards me silently, brow low in thought.

"Yes… I saw that boy. The aura of his spirit…" He trails off, staring at me. Those dark eyes bore into me, through me, like he's turning me inside out, and it makes my skin crawl. I'm about to snap when he mutters, "and the aura of the spirit maiden. Somewhat similar to yours…but only when it flares. Though yours is far stranger."

Huh? That's the only thing my brain supplies. "Uh, I'm pretty sure it's…not," I mumble, but he doesn't take notice.

"Very well, then." The demon spreads his arms in a flourish. "Let's put you to the test."

"W-what? Master, I don't think you have time for this. Zel—the spirit maiden won't remain in the temple forever. You should, you know, go there."

Yes, go there and away from me. Far, far, away from me.

He smiles that devilish smile. "You mean 'we.' We will go there."

I gape, my mind stops working. "I—I, wha—"

"Close your mouth, you look ridiculous. Well? Get up, get up, don't dawdle!"

Even the violent upward motions of his hands don't register, and he ends up gripping my wrist, wrenching me to my feet. His arm comes around my shoulders and he crushes me to his side. And then, in a slew of black and gold and red diamonds that rattle me to my core, we disappear.

I…I can't believe he's actually taking me with him. I didn't see it coming, and it's not until we stand before the ancient temple that it really sinks in.

A smile, slow and slightly feverish, breaks out over my face. The adventure I've spent this life dreaming of, the game I've been replaying over and over in my head ever since I was old enough to form coherent thought and retain memory, the one I thought wasn't going to be able to experience. It begins here—and here I am.

Tear through the surface with flying colors, play Ghirahim's game, crush Demise…

I'm not beside the person I thought I was going to be. But I'm here. That's what matters.

…And If I play my cards right, I may yet get to fight at Link's side after all.

A/N: Still good? In character? I'd love to know what you think.